"Leave your country, your family, and your father’s house, for the land I will show you." Genesis 12:1-2

Today I will begin a road trip to return our older son to college. The summer has come to an end for him and his junior year of college awaits. Amazing! It has been a good summer…a little work, a little rest, a little vacation, a little time with family, and a little time with friends. We have all grown much over the last months as we have danced often painful ,but much needed, dance of letting go.

Over the weekend I spent time with several parents who are sending their young adults off to college for the first time. The stories they told were familiar and I found myself in a place I never thought I would be. I found myself offering a calming word, a gentle reminder that the work of their children right now was to move away, to separate, to find their own way in the world. It is difficult work but rewarding in ways we never imagine.

Roots and wings. As parents we pray that we have given our children the roots that will keep them grounded as the world and their life experiences toss them about. We pray that the roots will include a deep knowing that they are loved beyond measure, that they have an invisible community that travels with them, that they always remember who they truly are, and that above all else they are made in the image of God.

In the same breath we pray that they have the wings to soar….to become not only all we have imagined for them, but all they have imagined for themselves, that they never ‘settle’ for the path of least resistance but reach beyond themselves to see the real and true ways they can make a difference in the world. We pray that the work they choose and the education they pursue will help them to follow the bliss of their dreams and will find them living out the gifts that were planted deep within them at their birth.

All this, along with the ‘stuff’  needed for college life, is a lot to pack into a car for a nearly thousand mile road trip. But it is all in there. It is the least I can do. It is the least any of us can do. Because it is what our parents did for us and what we hope our children will do for their children.

Roots and wings……………..

I have attended several funerals recently. As a child I went to lots of funerals. In a small town, when someone dies the whole town turns out to pay their respects. It is simply what you do. Now that I have occasion to be in leadership at funerals, it is a very different experience. But always a holy one. I am always blessed to hear the stories of family members and to learn new things, sometimes surprising things, about the one who has passed on. I am always interested in the hymns, scripture, or poetry the person held dear and how the family reflects on those as they talk of their loved one.

Today I attended a funeral of one our dear saints of the church. She had requested a Mary Oliver poem be read at her funeral. It’s title is "When Death Comes." The words are beautiful and evocative. They were, of course, meant to express her own thoughts, beliefs, questions. But they also, I think, became a sort of reminder or challenge to those in attendance. And knowing this person as I did, I think that could have been her intention.

"When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world in my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world."

Even in the sadness I felt at this funeral, I also felt the gentle nudging of this dear, gracious woman. A teacher to the end, she provided for each of us, if we chose to take on the task, an assignment of becoming one who is married to amazement, making something real and particular of our lives. Just visiting is not what it is about. Living is .Really living.

So as I left the service, it seemed the sky was a little bluer than it had been earlier, the oak tree outside the church entrance looked particularly lush in the early afternoon light. People’s faces seemed vibrant with the flush of summer. And the grapes I ate for lunch were as sweet as could be imagined. Tonight I plan to walk outside and take in the promised full moon,allowing it to bathe me in its light.

I am taking a course in amazement and I have homework to do. There’s a teacher I have known who I hope will be pleased with my work.

Have a blessed weekend……………………….

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last,"What’s the first thing you say to yourself?"

"What’s for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"

"I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. "It’s the same thing," he said.

~ The Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, A. A. Milne

Most people in Minnesota are starting to turn their minds towards summer’s end. As you drive by schools, athletic teams are in practice, a sure signal that fall in just around the corner. But for us, the true end to summer is the State Fair, that wonderful gathering of what I like to think of as the Great Potluck of what it means to be Minnesotan. From the urban to the country, from suburb to small town, we gather to celebrate the art of living in this place. That art takes many forms, from the beautiful and amazing fine art found in the State Fair Art Show, to the art of crops and animals, midway and foods on a stick.

People have been wondering about whether or not the economy will play a part in the success of the Fair this year. Will people pay the high price of gas to get here? With family budgets strapped,will the struggling economy have an impact on this summer’s end festival?

I don’t have the answer to that question but a news report today about the high cost of food…or I should say, feed….is having an impact. It seems there have been no entries in the Biggest Boar contest. The speculation is that the high cost of feed may have kept farmers from feeding these monstrous animals so much that they tip the scales at over one thousand pounds. Now I have to admit I have always felt sorry for these animals. They are so large that I don’t think I have ever seen one standing.Maybe they do, but I’ve never seen it. They simply lay there, in the heat of August, while people stare at them.

People are struggling everywhere with the cost of fuel and food. It is difficult for so many, especially for those who already have difficulty with basic necessities. But this shortage has also brought some very good things as well. Many people are biking to work or taking public transportation. Our bike trails are filled with riders of all ages. Still others are simply walking more.This is good not only for the health of the people but for the environment. Many people have risen to the occasion with ingenuity and determination.

And so what about that Big Boar? Maybe someone will eventually enter the contest. Or maybe this is the year when the idea of overfeeding an animal for sport is laid to rest. For me personally, the State Fair will not lose any of its appeal or glory. After all, the pen adjacent to the Boar is always the residence of the Mama Pig and her multiple piglets. A great sign of life and health and hope.

There are some surprising perks with my work. Every now and then, out of the blue, someone will send me a book to look at, read, recommend, or use in a class. A few weeks ago a fat envelope arrived with the book The Life of Meaning:Reflections on Faith, Doubt, and Repairing the World.  It is a book of essays compiled by Bob Abernathy and William Bole and the contributor’s of PBS’s Religion and Ethics NewsWeekly. It is filled with the beautiful writings of current theologians, professors, clergy and others who are in constant pursuit of the spiritual. Each writer reflects in some way what a life of meaning is to them and how that has changed or stayed the same over the course of their lives. I am looking forward to sitting down and savoring each chapter.

The book is not called The Meaning of Life, but instead, is called The Life of Meaning. In some way this is the largest concept we grapple with as humans. How does my life have meaning? How does yours? What defines meaning to you? How will we know that our life had meaning, that it counted for something, that  somehow  it was faithful….whatever they may mean….that we lived with doubts and certainties with a grace and openness…..and that in it all we in some way helped to repair the world? These are the questions that bring us to define the life of meaning we long for.

As I was leafing through the chapters I thought of the Marianne Williamson poem that begins:
"Our deepest fear
    is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear
    is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light,
    not our darkness,
        that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves,
    who am I to be brilliant,
    gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
We were born to make manifest
    the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us;
    it’s in everyone."

Today might be a perfect day to remember these words and hold them to our heart. They might just help us embrace and live into this life of meaning.

"Below, the cracked, brown earth,

       Like ancient earthen-ware,

Spreads out its dusty, worn

       Old surface, baked and bare.

Above, the polished blue

       Of a burnished August sky

Is an inverted bowl

       Of every drop drained dry."

~May Frink Converse

The last two mornings I have awakened to damp sidewalks and the fresh scent of rain in the air. As I picked up the morning paper yesterday, I had to shake the water off the plastic bag that shielded the ink from running into oblivion. This morning is rained lightly all morning. It was a gray, cocoon like morning meant for turning off the alarm, snuggling back under the covers with a good book or for a couple more hours of sleep. Instead we all headed out into a world that needed the rain so badly, a world of brown grass and withered flowers.

It was so refreshing to feel the rain falling on my skin when I headed to the car. A part of me just wanted to stand there, to be in solidarity with the soil, the grass, the thirsty plants and trees. We have been without rain for a long time though certainly not as long as some other places around the world. And my garden is small and really for enjoyment and show…it is not the livelihood that feeds my family. So in the very big picture, the drought has only affected me aesthetically but I am still very aware of our lack of rain.

Drought. It is both reality and metaphor. I know many people who are experiencing a drought in their lives right now…..physically, professionally, economically, spiritually. Those dry places that need life-giving moisture to grow are finding it difficult, even deadly. Creativity, imagination, even options seems out of reach. I pray for a drenching rain to gently fall on those brittle places that need to be doused with moisture. I pray it for them, for myself, for the hope of our world.

"Let me taste your mercy like rain on my face,here in my life, show me your peace. Let us see with our own eyes your day breaking bright, Come, O Morning, come, O Light!" Rory Cooney

As humans we are gathering people, and I am not speaking of being hunters and gatherers. We like to gather in parks, in living rooms, at the beach, over coffee in the neighborhood coffee shop. Some places are better gathering places than others. Some are more comfortable, more beautiful, less noisy, more noisy. Over time the places people gather has changed. Take malls, for instance. While it is not in my nature to gather in a mall to meet with my friends, teenagers find it a good spot for coming together. Different strokes, different times.

It seems one place that people have gathered through out time is in a place where trees form some kind of grove.They gather there for protection from sun or enemy, making homes, pitching tents, building fires for cooking, warmth and, of course, storytelling. Trees can form a grove of identity for groups of people as my husband and I witnessed a week ago when we visited the state campground near Lake Mille Lacs. Walking among the trees that were adjacent to a smaller, more manageable lake than the bigger one, we walked the ground that was home to the native people so many years ago. You could still see how their homes must have been configured. As I stood there I sensed their presence, their wisdom, their understanding that, indeed, this was a good and beautiful place to be, to live.

Last week there was a wonderful story in the Star Tribune about a boy who had taken on city hall by trying to preserve a large stump of tree in the park that was the meeting place for he and his friends. "Meet you at the stump!" the kids would say as they planned for their daily activities. I was touched by this article. We have always had a scraggly grove of trees…more like bushes…that exists on our street. I think of all the times I have heard the words of the children in my house and in our neighborhood:"Meet you at the trees!"It was their place, no adults allowed, their place of ‘kid’ identity, the place where dreams were born and schemes were hatched.

We can name all of the great reasons for the existence of trees. Food, shade,beauty,shelter, home for birds and animals, wood for our own homes, and, of course, the very oxygen that keeps us breathing and alive. But it is also good to remember that groves of trees, all over the world, throughout time, have been the gathering places for lovers, enemies, friends and families."Meet you at the trees!" is still a call that sends us running for the place that connects us with our ancestors….to a place of safety, of adventure, of identity, of home.

"I part the out thrusting branches
and come in beneath
the blessed and the blessing trees.
Though I am silent
there is singing around me.
Though I am dark
there is vision around me.
Though I am heavy
there is flight around me."

  ~Wendell Berry   

I have been cleaning out files and notebooks the last few days. I’ve found little bits of wisdom here and there scribbled on pieces of paper, in the margins of articles I’ve ripped out of magazines or journals, on a post it note or two. Some of the phrases make sense on their own, some only in the context of what was happening at the time, where I was, who I was.

Take for instance a few pages I saved from notes I took at a conference on creativity at St. Thomas University a few summers ago. At the top of the page I must have written down what the leader had said:"To make creativity happen, you must search for the value in new ideas." At first glance it seems a no-brainer. Creativity…new ideas…a lovely little duet. But then the word ‘value’ jumps out. Most of the time we want to be creative as long as it doesn’t rock the boat, as long as things don’t change too much, as long as it is not too much work, doesn’t take too much energy. But when we really search for what can be valued in a new idea, things can get really exciting.

My notes went on to say that with any new idea, to avoid killing it and to be open to the value that lives within it, we should praise first and then look for the good in it. That seems a very different approach than ones I’ve taken, or have seen taken, in supposed visioning or future planning meetings. My notes also reflect the thought that ‘new ideas often look weird or ridiculous.’ That is probably what is known as an understatement.

When have you had a new idea that filled you with excitement? Maybe you are having one right now. When have you been in a work, family or church meeting when someone offered an idea that seemed weird or ridiculous. How might it all have played out if the idea had been offered praise first and then the group would have galloped off looking for the good in it?

In a book I return to often and probably have mentioned here before, Gently Lead:How to Teach Your Children About God While Finding Out For Yourself, by Polly Berrien Berends, the author recounts helping her children solve problems or look for creative solutions. She would always tell them, "Remember, God is the Source of all your good ideas."

What do you think? Does that sound like an idea to praise and then look for the good in? I believe it is worth a try.

One of the local television stations has been running a commercial showing the brilliant faces of several ages of children doing what children do: run, play, somersault, laugh uproariously. The photography is simple. The scenes are simple….backyards, playgrounds, swimming pools. At the end there are is the simple message: ‘Summer…84 days to be a kid again.’

I’ve really enjoyed this commercial. I’ve enjoyed the sheer joy on the children’s faces, the wild abandon of their play, the sense of freedom it exhibits. 84 days to be a kid again. I thought of these words last night as I watched all the children at our National Night Out block party. I know all of these children individually and see them in the neighborhood all the time. But somehow when they all were in one place at the same time, they became a force. A force of fun, of freedom, of memory. Ice cream dotted their sweaty faces, most were tired beyond words, but their wise parents allowed them to play and play until they were finally carried home, exhausted, filthy, ecstatic. Isn’t it what we all wanted to do?

This morning as I went for an early morning walk there was no sign of their frenetic bodies running and jumping. The chairs and tables, ice cream sticks and soda cans had been cleaned up. The only visible sign of the last night’s activities were the sidewalk chalk words: Happy Summer! The hot pink and bright blue letters brought a smile to my face and a spring to my step.

Happy Summer, indeed. I don’t know where we are in those 84 days. But I do know that as I walked home from the block party last night, the dark and humid air hung heavy with the faint scent not of summer, but of fall. Last Sunday evening while having a lovely outdoor meal with friends in their backyard surrounded by  purple cone flowers and pink phlox, a yellow leaf fell slowly from the tree overhead into my salad. So it seems to me each of us have the responsibility to not let the summer pass us by without remembering…….what it was like to be a kid. The school bell will ring before we know it.

"On a summer morning I sat down on a hillside
to think about God- a
worthy pastime.
Near me, I saw a single cricket;
it was moving the
grains of the hillside this way and that way.
How great was its
energy, how humble its effort.
Let us hope it will always be like this,
each of us going on in our inexplicable ways
building the universe."
~Mary Oliver

A few weeks ago a friend spoke to our worshiping community about his own spiritual journey, the twists and turns it has taken, his rebellion, his longings, the push and pull of the institutional church in his life. I am always struck at the courage a person has to do such a talk: to stand before those you know well and those who are strangers and talk about some of the most intimate and important parts of life. In speaking he told the story of being in a class in Berkeley, California with some of the great thinkers in theology, spirituality and cosmology. It was the beginning days of the class and information about how the Universe works, the sacred nature of it all, was flying through the air. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed with the level of scientific jargon and concepts. At one point, being a good student,possibly anticipating future exams,  he asked:"How much of this information are you expecting us to take in and remember?" The professor answered simply, "Just to the point where you are stunned."

It seems to me that some of the most important work humans do is to be stunned. As I sit looking out my office window an amazing oak tree is rising out of a playground hedged in by massive buildings, asphalt and concrete and yet it spreads its branches and shades the children who play there, sending oxygen into the air that fills their tiny lungs. Stunning!

There are so many things to be stunned about and I don’t even have to get to scientific language. Tiny seeds that grow into food that fuels my body. Hummingbird wings. A baby’s eyelashes. The sunrise this weekend that had the full colors of the rainbow and then some. Watching young adult children at the lip of adventure and feeling your heart grow with the promise of their lives. Standing at the graveside of a 94 year old whose children were so shaped by her faith and love, that they glow with the celebration of her life in the midst of their grief. Sitting beside a young one sounding out words as reading becomes a new skill. The eyes and voices of people singing with joy the songs they love. All stunning!

Perhaps one of the reasons we go for the mundane, that we allow ourselves to be swept away by the unimportant nit-picky details of daily living, is that being stunned can be exhausting. But, oh, who would want to miss the thrill of the Northern Lights or the tart, yet sweet,taste of a fresh picked blueberry?Who would trade a meteor shower for cleaning out the garage? Who would choose organizing your sock drawer over staring at the clear, glass surface of a summer lake?

Think about it. Are you having enough stunned moments in your life? The world is waiting for each of us….and there are no exams to be passed. We need only stand with our mouths….and our hands….and our hearts…wide open and ready.

One year ago today those of us who live in the Twin Cities were going about our daily lives with the usual amnesia. We drove to work, took kids to activities, ate a sandwich without tasting while driving at warp speed in our cars, skimmed the newspaper without paying attention to the stories of the lives held in black and white, kissed a loved one without tasting the sweetness of their skin on our lips, said our prayers with little attention or passion.

Sometime between 5:30-7:00 p.m. on August 1st, I was sitting where I am nearly every first Wednesday of every month as our women’s book group meets at church. We were laughing or crying as we discussed whatever book was that month’s selection. Then our receptionist opened the door to the room where we meet to say the bridge over 35W had collapsed and fallen into the river. Stunned, we immediately began making phone calls checking on loved ones, people we knew who might have been traveling that way. All of our senses became heightened, our nerve endings seeming to move to the surface of our skin. I looked at my cellphone to see that our older son had been trying to reach me. Momentarily I froze knowing that he is often with friends who live near the University very near the bridge.  Then the message:"I’m o.k. Don’t worry." A release of breath, a silent prayer of gratitude.

Today will be spent remembering. Remembering scenes just like this one. "Where were you?" will be asked. Where were you when the bridge fell? Countless stories will be told, prayers will be said for those who lost their lives, for those who live forever changed, for those who would be surprised by their own bravery, for those who simply did what they were trained to do. Today will be spent remembering…..remembering what it means to be a fragile, human being, walking in an uncertain world where bridges fail us, illness arrives unwelcomed, accidents change lives forever, and bad things happen to good people. It is the nature of living.

But today will also be spent remembering how people risked their lives to save strangers and children were lifted by the arms of angels out of a school bus dangerously dangling over the rushing waters of the  Mississippi.Someplace in the remembering we will recognize the things that unite us and we will make a silent assent. Those that divide will seem diminished or unimportant. Today, at least for a few moments, we will be awake to the life that we love as we remember how precious it is and how quickly it can all change. Hopefully in that moment, each of us will stop what we are doing, be awakened, and remember to remember  more often….and to give thanks.

"Oh, God, give me grace for this day, Not for a lifetime, nor for the next day, nor for tomorrow, just for this day. Direct and bless everything that I think and speak and do. So that for this one day, just this one day, I have the gift of grace that comes from your presence." ~Marjorie Holmes